There's never a perfect time to have kids, they say.

"It's never a perfect time to have a kid, so don't worry about the timing!  Things will work out."

On the surface, such a sweet and understanding remark.  It's great to have friends who will lift you up when you're sitting there going ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod and rocking yourself frantically in a corner like somehow that will make everything better.

And then there are days like today.

Days where your toddler just screams.  And clings.  And cries.  He's inconsolable.  Then he's independent for a little while and you think whatever it is has passed.  Then he's inconsolable.  Then it's naptime and blissful silence.  Then he's inconsolable.  Then he's happy.  Then he's inconsolable.  Then he's really, really, really mad.  Then he's inconsolable.

Which is why we are in the tub, hours before bedtime.  Why he is playing with his toys and splashing everything he possibly can.  He's playing Fill Up the Cup and Dump it Everywhere.  He's playing Hey, Let's See How Many Things I Can Throw Out of the Tub Before Mom Goes Insane.  I learned the trick to let the faucet only trickle some water.  Enough to fill a cup with, but not enough to run out of hot water too early (or fill the tub too fast).  He hates it when I turn the water off.  And he's happy.  He's laughing.  And I'm just sitting here like thank God.

Don't get me wrong; even on a day like today, I have plenty of joy.  Lots of smiles and laughter with his antics, his faces, the things he tries so hard to tell me in his own personal language.  Lots of cuddles and kisses and little bitty giggles.  Lots of squealing and shrieking when I pretend to eat fingers.

But I'm also sitting here realizing that I'm about to be pregnant through the terrible twos.

The.
Terrible.
Twos.

What have we done?!

Though... to be fair, I have heard that the threes are worse.  So, I mean, maybe the terrible twos were the better option after all.

See?

They were right.

There's never a perfect time to have kids.